


Insomnia

by greekowl87



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Did I Mention Angst?, F/M, MSR, Missing Scene, UST, cause there is angst, s5 ep 20 the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 18:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12487584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greekowl87/pseuds/greekowl87
Summary: The scene where Scully stumbles upon Mulder and Diana holding hands in the episode "The End" and she walks away. The aftermath. Missing scene. Angst ensues. Obviously.





	Insomnia

Scully tossed fitfully in her bed, trying to find a comfortable position. Finally, she rolled onto her back, sighing and opening her eyes. Glancing at the red numbers on the alarm clock, she saw it glow back 2:14. She needed to get to sleep. She had a little less than four hours to do it if she expected to be functional for the next day.

Sighing, Scully watched the window and bare branches shadows dance on her ceiling from the light on the streets. The night seemed quieter for some reason like she was left purposely to let her thoughts stew so she could mull over the same scene over and over and over again. And get angry. And frustrated.

She could just see it. Their hands, clasped in some moment of solidarity, smiling at each other like fools. She felt a flash on anger in her belly as it spread through her like an angry wildfire. Jealous. She was actually jealous. That hand of his belonged to her, on the small of her back. She arched her back unconsciously as if she could feel his touch at that moment. She remembered feeling betrayed. What happened to trust no one?

Except one. 

Her.

She used to be his confidant.

She had sensed a change in him ever since he had laid his eyes on her in that initial briefing. Then the Lone Gunmen. Who had called Fowley Mulder’s chickadee? She could not remember but she did remember it made her even more bitter. Who the hell calls someone a chickadee?

A chickadee was not supposed to be annoying. She actually enjoyed the bird with its little gray body and black and white capped head. She loved the little call it made. But Diana. She physically grimaced at the thought of her. She looked so much older than Mulder, almost like a grandma who had dyed her hair prematurely. And bird reference? Diana reminded her of a vulture, hanging around and ready to pick at the dead.

She clutched the sheets in her hands in anger.

Fuck her. Mulder was her partner, damn it.

Of course, she had known he had other partners before her. What was his name? From VCU? Jerry. The partner that died. The one that ate away at him. But now there was that crone too. And she was very much alive and kicking.

Where did she stand? Lucky number three? Was there another partner that seemed to fit his tastes? Tall, long legged, big bosomed, brunette partners? She turned to her side in disgust. Fuck Fowley. Fuck her.  
Sleep was not coming. She bit her lip in thought before given into the temptation of a rare bottle of vodka she kept tucked away deep in her freezer behind her tub of cookie dough ice cream. She pushed back the blankets. They felt heavier than usual. She swung her feet onto the cool hardwood floors and leaned heavily over the side of the bed.

The fucking hand holding. The fucking smiling.

“Shit!”

Scully rarely allowed a curse slip through. She was not one to give into temptation…to let her lips fall freely to speak whatever profanity that came to mind. She had heard worse from her father on the rare occasion and more from her brothers more commonly. The curse of a navy family. And then she decided on a nightcap and headed towards her freezer. She stopped midstep though when she heard a light rasp at her door.

There is only one person who be knocking on her door this early.  
She let him knock as she pulled out the bottle of vodka, and lacking shot glasses pulled out a coffee mug. She poured a healthy amount over the repeated knock and stashed the bottle away. The knocking continued. She took silent joy in that.

“Scully.” 

His voice made her shiver. She knew it was Mulder. If he did not call, he would eventually show up at her door like a lost puppy. She sipped the bitter liquid, mentally remembering to buy Grey Goose instead of Smirnoff next time. She padded across the floor barefooted and opened the door slightly out of habit before it opening all the way.

“Hey,” he smiled.

He was still dressed in his suit from earlier that day she noted.

“Hi.”

Her face was ice. Stone.

Mulder shifted uncomfortably, noticing the shift in her tone. “I didn’t see you tonight. At the office.”

“I wasn’t feeling well. I went home.”

He flared his nostrils slightly, smelling the hint of alcohol. “Are you feeling okay?” She nodded curtly. 

“So…whiskey?” he guessed.

“Vodka.”

A heavy silence hung between them.

“Must be really bad.”

“Mmmm. The worst.”

Mulder gazed at her and she closed her eyes, realizing she was exposed, in her pajamas, no makeup or armor, and drinking liquid courage (or a calmer).

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mulder.”

The tone was stiff. Deciding.

Leave me alone.

Mulder nodded and bowed his head slightly. “I guess…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He left with his tail between his legs and Scully shut the door behind her. She leaned against the wooden barricade and sipped the bitter liquid. She could feel tears. Why was she crying?

She managed to find her way to the couch, finishing her nightcap as she pulled the random blanket she had hanging over it over her. She flinched. Mulder had given her that blanket during her cancer. She felt  
the tears come faster as she clutched the blanket around her.

How could he? Why was she even acting like this?

Clutching the blanket reminded her of those rare nights she would ask to stay and he would with her, holding her, and she would eventually bow off to sleep. She had been safe. Trusting. But tonight, she gave into exhaustion. Exhaustion that he did not trust her. Exhaustion that she was tired of playing nice.

What could she do?

She used to be the only one he trusted.


End file.
